


Sculpted Douche Abs

by sumomomochi



Series: Redux3 [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Aspie!Dirk, Crossdressing, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumomomochi/pseuds/sumomomochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are terribly cute,” he chuckles, “Can I kiss you?”</p>
<p>Your head snaps to face him and you can feel yourself flushing.</p>
<p>“It’s quite alright if you’d prefer not to, but I think I rather fancy you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sculpted Douche Abs

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless DirkJake porn, taking place between chapters 19 and 20 of the main Redux3 story line. Actually reading Redux3 is probably not all that necessarily.

There's a knock at your door. There should not be a knock at your door, since you're sure your siblings are too busy with their friends to come bother you and it is too late for it to be your mother.

You opt to put your pajama pants back on before you answer.

This turns out to be a very good idea, as it is none other than Jake Fucking English at your door.

He's holding a pair of mugs topped with whipped cream. You assume it's hot chocolate. He raises them slightly, drawing your attention to them (not that he needed to) and grins up at you.

"Might I join you for a spell?" he asks.

You are conflicted. This is a level of social interaction you are not comfortable engaging in without someone you are already familiar with to act as a buffer. It is made even worse by your inability to accurately gauge Jake Fucking English's intentions.

You let him in anyway. It's only polite.

You belatedly realize your room is a complete catastrophe. Too late now.

He asks, "Is it alright for me to sit on your bed?"

You nod stiffly, and he does, catching the edge where the mattress is starting to slide off the box spring. He's caught off balance for a split second, catching himself with the ease you've more than familiarized yourself with thanks to his television show, and he lets out a particularly loud, surprised laugh. You wince.

"Goodness," he exclaims. The contents of one of the mugs he holds was jostled, and you watch the trail of liquid slide across his fingers. You were correct. It does appear to be hot chocolate. He says, "You can sit as well, you know."

You sit. He offers you one of the mugs, the one that didn't spill and you take it gingerly. Your fingers are terribly long and spindly compared to his, like you've been stretched far too thin. You find it almost odd that you have to remind yourself that you are nearly a foot taller than him; his boisterous personality more than makes up for his short stature.

"You're quite difficult to start up a conversation with," he says. You nod again and mutter an apology. He nudges his shoulder against you. Your breath hitches. He is sitting far too close to you and you can see him watching your face out of the corner of your eye. You wish you had the foresight to put your shades on as well.

"Nothing to be sorry for," he gives a wry chuckle -- he's far more attractive in real life and it's so not fucking fair -- "I'm always up for a challenge, after all."

"I'm lactose intolerant," you tell him suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"I'm changing the subject. I cannot drink this," you lift the mug in your hands, "as I am lactose intolerant."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware."

"It's okay," you shrug, "It's warm."

"You are terribly cute," he chuckles, "Can I kiss you?"

Your head snaps to face him and you can feel yourself flushing. It seems your hunch on where this conversation was headed was correct, although your attempt at changing the subject did not work. He laughs harder, leaning in towards you. He plucks the mug from your fingers with one hand and sets it on the table next to you and you swallow hard.

"It's quite alright if you'd prefer not to, but I think I rather fancy you."

You open your mouth to reply, but your brain is too busy _flipping the fuck out_ in excitement to allow words to actually come, and you're reasonably sure this is the longest bit of eye contact you've had with him.

You look away and snatch up your phone, tapping at the tiny keyboard with your thumbs. He shifts, going to stand, and looks. Sheepish. Angry maybe?

Fuck, you're being weird. He doesn't _know_ you, doesn't know your quirks, and you are officially freaking out. You snatch the front of his shirt and tug him back onto the bed. Momentum has him bowling into you, knocking you flat onto your bed, and the hottest piece of ass on tv has literally fallen into your lap.

Jake Fucking English has fallen into your lap after expressing interest in kissing you.

So you kiss him.

__You taste whipped cream on his lips, and when he gasps, you taste chocolate on his tongue. The hot chocolate he brought you tastes fucking delicious, even second hand._ _

He snickers and breathes, "Thanks, I made it myself," against your lips. You gasp an embarrassed laugh at having spoken that thought aloud and press your mouth back against his.

He devours you hungrily, a symphony of arousing noises sliding constantly from his throat, and holy fuck are they hot. You are now the mayor of Bonersville. You will not ask him to be your vice chairman.

He giggles and you hope to god you didn't say any of _that_ out loud.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, "you're sort of tickling me there."

You snatch your hands back from his ribs, where you had a death grip on his shirt.

"No, I don't mind," he literally goes _hah hah_ , "I'm just rather sensitive."

You feel like there should be a _if you know what I mean_ tagged on to the end of that sentence. It seems like something he would say. You gingerly set your hands back on his hips.

"Say. How old are you, chap?"

"Ah. Twenty-two?"

"Oh good, I was worried I'd have a decade on you. Twenty-nine, by the way."

His Wikipedia article listed his age as well, so the years he has on you was already knowledge you held, thus you are the complete opposite of surprised.

At least, you suppose, he isn't old enough to be your father, unlike most of your previous partners.

And he kisses younger as well. Sloppy and sweet, rather than overpowering. You find it endearing, although you do miss the underlying note of possession that came with your previous partners.

"You're almost cartoonishly attractive, you realize this, right?" he hisses, pressing his lips against the line of your jaw. You can feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin, and you do, of course, realize. You gasp an affirmative when he bites down on your throat. You also arch into him and he grinds his dick against your hip, height difference having the weight of it sitting at roughly your navel. It it seems to be an absolutely fantastic dick, thick and hot, and you feel it twitch to press harder against you.

You are now torn between flipping your shit because Jake Fucking English is pressing his dick against your stomach and flipping your shit because your dick is pressed against Jake Fucking English's thigh. Both are perfectly acceptable things to freak out over.

You make a conscious effort not to stim.

You do not succeed.

"Are you alright?" he asks. You nod. He continues, "Are you sure? You're squirming like the dickens." You nod again, more firmly, and you're sure you're pink clear down to your nipples. He rocks his hips against yours again, and you sigh pleasantly in response to his moan.

"Goodness," he groans against your lips, "I was not expecting to progress so far."

You suck his bottom lip between yours and squeeze his hips.

"You are quite alright with continuing, I suspect?"

You just nod. Again. He makes a "hrm" sound and sits back on his heels.

"The face you're making is not terribly reassuring, chap."

You are not making a reassuring face. You are making an "I'm doing everything in my power to not call you daddy" face. The two are completely different. At this point, every stock phrase you have for these situations is grossly inappropriate considering you intend to sleep with a man actually in the general vicinity of your age group.

You say instead, "I am very interested in your naked dick touching mine thank you."

He sputters with laughter, warm and bright and a little too loud. You don't think he notices the way you flinch at the sudden influx of noise.

"Well," he purrs, grinning, "I think I'd quite like that myself."

He strips his shirt off then, a perfect combination of slick, muscular grace and amusing, everything-is-Christmas awkwardness. Endearing. Sexily endearing. And this is not, of course, the first time you've seen him shirtless. You've got quite the collection of HD photos of him shirtless, video clip after video clip of him trouncing around the wilderness clad in hardly anything.

There is a reason why you prefer the episodes of him in warmer climates. That reason is he has a terrible time keeping all his clothes on. You greatly enjoy this fact.

And you seem to be able to now greatly enjoy this fact in real life.

He's most definitely thicker than you, broad shoulders pink and peeling from his most recent sunburn (which means there will shortly be a new episode that you can ogle), and the trail of dark hair from his navel to his pant line is decidedly distracting. He's no where near as marble-cut as you are, but he is undoubtedly well muscled. You think he might even be able to successfully pin you down.

You are such a stereotypical twink.

He slides his fingertips against your chest, over the folds of your shirt with the lightest of touches. You wiggle out of your wife beater and try not to look smug at the way his eyes zero in on your perfectly toned stomach -- obviously defined, but not to the point where you look like a Jersey Shore frat boy. He ghosts hot fingers over the center line of your stomach.

"You are just full of surprises," he snickers. You arch far enough to see where he's looking -- that's right, you are actually wearing your navel jewelry again. Your lips quirk up and you stick your tongue out at him, gently clicking the ball of your piercing against your front teeth. He makes a strangled noise and flushes a dark burgundy.

"Blimey."

And then :

"Does it actually increase.. pleasure?"

You wouldn't know from personal experience but you've always gotten quite a lot of praise. You nod.

"Wicked."

You snort at his lopsided grin -- it's like you're back in high school, when you first got the piercing.

"How the bloody hell did I not notice that when I was kissing you?"

You shrug and he snickers, leaning back in to kiss you again. His tongue dives straight back in, tangling with yours as he presumably searches for the piercing he now knows is there. He groans when he finds it, low and deep, and you shudder at the sound.

His hand slides between your bodies and he shifts over you. He moans again when your piercing catches on his teeth and his hips roll forward.

"You up for it?" he pants against your lips. You nod. Enthusiastically. And then deadpan, "Yes."

He snickers, "Golly, you're a strange one."

You push your hips up into his and he moans.

"And you're noisy," you say. He apologizes and you murmur, "Don't be." It is always somehow easier to talk when you're half naked and have a raging hard on.

"Good, good," he says, rolling his hips against yours. Your breath hitches and you follow his movement fluidly. He continues, "Because you don't hardly make any noise at all." He pauses to breathe a moan, then adds, "You are far too clothed for how bloody attractive you are."

You reply, "The same could be said about you," and he grins brilliantly wide.

"Well, we should do something about that then."

He climbs off your lap and nearly slips off the bed again when he goes to kneel on the edge. He chuckles when he regains his footing and shoves your bed back into place with his hip, you right in the center of it and everything. You cock throbs at the show of strength and you swallow a whimper. And then he shucks his pajama pants and you're left eying the way his erection is encased in his underwear, press tight against his hip by snug boxer briefs. There's a significant wet spot as his tip. You lick your lips, watch the way his dick strains against his underwear and his stomach muscles tense.

You make a show of sucking on your bottom lip, playing coy with half lidded eyes.

"Do you want me to blow you?" you ask, successfully locking the "daddy" behind your teeth. He nods dumbly and you slither off the bed.

"Oh fuck me," he gasps as you knee in front of him, ass on your heels. Your lips are inches from a literal celebrity's junk, a literal celebrity who whimpers when you mouth him through his underwear. "Oh fuck, oh fuck," he breathes, "We should get this properly sorted. Golly, _fuck_ ," he presses his hips harder against your mouth. You are greatly enjoying the way he hisses obscenities. "A condom, we should at least start there."

You point at your side table and suck noisily on his dick. You mumble, "I'm clean," against the wet spot you've left. You are not a terribly huge fan of sucking dick when there's a condom involved. The texture is all wrong and it is unbelievably frustrating.

He hasn't moved towards your side table any. Besides the way his thighs tremble, he hasn't moved at all. You use the hand you pointed with to adjust yourself in your underwear, pulling yourself up along your stomach. He whispers another set of curses, shudders and moans when you set both hands on his hips and start inching his underwear down. You press your tongue hard against the underside of his head, your upper lip coming away sticky from the precum that's soaked through the fabric.

You tilt your face up towards his as you pull his underwear over his dick. It springs out, brushing against your cheek in it's burst to freedom. You go to lick a fat stripe along the underside, intending to drag your piercing along the length from root to tip, but he grabs a fist full of your hair and yanks your head back. You latch onto his arm with one hand automatically and gasp. He lets go almost as fast as he grabbed on, apologizing, and you pout as you spew, "No, no, please don't let go da- don't, please."

The tip of his dick nudges your cheek, leaving a hot smear of pre against your skin. You must make for a pretty picture, on your knees for him, flushed and needy. You are good at this part.

"How the heck can you be so confident you're not going to catch anything?" he asks, entirely flustered.

"My brother's hopelessly in love with your cousin and I've wanted to suck your dick for like, three years."

His fingers flex in your hair and he looks. Flustered. Definitely flustered. Also like sour lemons taste.

"Why are you so," you venture, firmly ignoring the waver in your voice, "Adamant."

"I've never had sex with a new partner without." He bites his lip, which is entirely adorable, and adds, "Why are _you_ so adamant?"

"I want to suck your dick, not a latex wrapped tube of meat. Also latex taste gross," you pout up at him some more, lick your lips, and click the metal in your tongue against your teeth when you whimper, "Please?"

"You're a manipulative shit, aren't you?"

You grin, full out, and say, "Yes."

He makes a noise you can't quite quantify and the hand fisting your hair slides around to stroke your jaw.

"You are frightfully lovely," he whispers.

"Thank you," you return, "Do I get to suck you off now?"

"Fine, fine," he sighs, smiling a little and thus not actually exasperated, "But if you catch some strange, exotic disease, it's you're own fault."

You can agree to those terms. You touch your tongue against his tip, slide your hand across his hot skin to wrap your too-long, stretched out fingers around his girth. You press the ball of your piercing against his frenulum and the way he inhales is audible. His precum clings to your tongue.

"Bloody fuckin' hell."

You hum around the dick in your mouth, his hands carding through your hair. You wish he would tug again. You suck, drag your piercing across his skin until it catches against the crest of his head.

His grip in your hair tightens with that and you moan appreciatively. It's a dream come true, having Jake Fucking English's dick in your mouth. It flexes on your tongue and you exhale hard through your nose.

"Oh," he whispers, "Okay, fuck. Goodness, _fuck_ ," and you slurp back to tongue at where his foreskin is still a little slack.

The foreskin is quite the novelty. One of your first partners was uncut, but Jake Fucking English is still quite different from what you've experienced previously. But then, no two dicks are the same and this one is attached to Jake. Fucking. English.

You are not complaining. You are doing the exact opposite of complaining.

You inhale and swallow him down as far as you can. You're not at the best angle for deep throating, but he doesn't seem to complain when you swallow around him, the tip of his dick tapping the back of your throat as you do.

"I think, I think you should really," he gasps and pauses to suck in a wavering breath, "Not be dressed anymore."

You pop off his dick and grin, your lips still pressed to the head. "What would you have me do then?" you ask. He makes this shuddery keening noise that sets fire to your blood. Then he sort of tries to pull you up by your face.

Apparently, you make a humorous expression at that, his palms pressing your cheeks in, because he giggles and apologizes and urges you to stand with his hands. You do and he snickers some more, bonking his forehead against your collar bone.

"You are terribly frustrating sometimes," he says but then he nips at your chests and rests his hands on your hips, so you think he doesn't actually mind.

You can rest your chin on his head like this. You find this greatly amusing, especially when his dick prods you in the thigh.

"Are you alright?" he asks suddenly, stepping back. His eyebrows are pulled in, flat but knitted together; concern. You nod, mirroring his expression. "You're, you're swaying. Quite a lot --" so you are. You stop. "-- Are you dizzy? You're not dehydrated, are you?"

You shake your head no and you can feel your face heat up. You mumble, "Happy."

"Pardon?"

"Means I'm happy." You've never had anyone try and mother you over your stims whilst trying to get laid. It is not a novel experiance. It is an awkward experiance.

He cups your face and pulls you down more towards his level. "It's cute," he says, bumping his forehead against yours, nose touching nose. "I was just worried. Too used to swaying meaning my comrade's about to faint on me."

"Why yes, you are absolutely correct. I am completely consumed with the vapors."

Your complete deadpan has him giggling and this close you get to see the way his lip catches against his teeth when he grins. You're not even exactly sure where that came from.

"I think maybe, perhaps, you should lie down then."

You just smirk, and he sighs against your lips as he nudges you back. You fall back onto the bed smoothly and he, on top of you. You missed when he removed his underwear completely, but you are not complaining. His rump is even more plush looking in real life. You place your hands on the back of his hips, politely refraining from grabbing hold of two palm fulls of prime ass.

He, however, has no qualms with diving right the fuck in, tucking the fingers of one hand under the waistband of your pants, nudging them down. You lift your hips to reduce resistance to best result in you being shortly pantless.

Your waistband catches on the head of your dick and he slides his fingers around to free it. You gasp when his knuckles press against your erection, and his breath is hot against your neck.

"You're being terribly helpful," he tells you and, since you are quite intentionally being a pain in the ass by not taking off your pants yourself, you snort at his sarcasm.

He gets your pants down off your hips well enough with your limited physical cooperation. You give a pleased hum when he presses his palm against your dick, tilting your hips into his touch.

"You know," he says, "I'm not even going to ask."

He has his head tilted downwards. You assume he is eying your dick which.

Which is currently emblazoned with Dash's cutie mark.

Whoops.

There's a stretch of silence, during which you're not sure if you should be mortified or not, and then Jake Fucking English bursts into laughter at your choice in underwear.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, this is just so absolutely surreal," he giggles, and the way his nose vibrates against your neck when he snorts is strange, "You're so composed and aloof and masculine but you've the playboy bunny hanging from your belly button and pony pants and a bloody _erection_."

Mortified is definitely the emotion you should be feeling right now. Damnit.

You suppose you tense under him because he sputters, still laughing, "No, no, it's not a _bad_ thing, not at all. I'm liking you more and more in light of all these surprises you keep throwing me. It's quite a relief to be involved with someone who so blatantly does not give a fuck."

He drags his face away from your neck, grinning brilliantly down at you with his glasses half down his nose and his eyes all crinkled up. His expression reads as sincere and he kisses you, cheerfully.

"Though I must really insist you remove your underwear now. My sister has the same pair and _that's_ a little odd for me."

You shuck your underwear in a heartbeat, kicking your pajamas off the rest of the way while you're at it.

"This is quite an improvement, Mister Strider," he purrs into your ear. You suck in a hard breath because Jake Fucking English plus your name plus sex voice.

Wow. Yes, good.

His hand on your bare dick is even more yesgood.

He's back to making fantastic noises, breathing hard against your jaw as he jerks you off, slowly dragging his hand up and down your length. You've automatically gone to press your hands against his shoulder blades, fingertips distorting with how hard you press them against him. You make a pleased, nonsensical sound and roll your hips into his grip. He squeezes and you gasp.

His dick nudges against your hip, leaving a scalding point of arousal, and it belatedly occurs to you that you can _actually touch him back_. So you do. He groans when you wrap your fingers around him, positively melting into your touch.

It's incredibly hot. His dick is also incredibly hot, wonderfully hard in your hand. You enjoy the feel of it immensely, and the way he murmurs encouragements, as if you'd need them, directly into your ear.

Every time you reach his head, his foreskin makes a wet noise, catching his pre. It'd be comical if this wasn't _Jake Fucking English_. Instead it's obscenely hot and reminds you of the taste of him on your tongue. He shifts over you, hips canting into your grip, and murmurs, "Don't suppose you've anything to ease our way, have you?"

It takes you a few seconds to actually process his meaning, but you swing your hand to point at your side draw so fast you almost clip him in the face as he sits back. Wow, fuck, he is so unbelievably attractive. You are not entirely sure how, exactly, you managed to get into his pants but you are most definitely not complaining. Especially not when he leans over to pull out your lube, never leaving your lap. You have the best seat in the house when it comes to observing Jake Fucking English and his rock hard thighs.

And his great arms. And stomach. And dick. Mostly you're focused on his dick, especially where it's touching yours.

You wrap your fingers around the both of you. His hips jerk into your touch, one hand dropping to clutch at your hip in surprise, and you gasp at the friction.

"That is exactly what I had in mind, chap," he says, wiggling your own lube bottle at you as if it wasn't actually yours. You roll your eyes. He snickers and thrusts into your grip, grinning at your breathy moan.

He tells you, "Goodness, you're gorgeous," as he dribbles lube across your hand. You shiver at the cold of it and try not to squirm under his gaze. He's been staring at you for far longer than you're comfortable with. He rolls his hips again, and his dick slides against yours smoothly, the way eased by the lube the two of you are smearing around. You shudder and squeeze your dicks tighter together.

The two of you set up a rhythm easily. His eyes on you ties your gut into knots and the way his dick flexes in your hand, against your dick, really does not help.

In a good way at least. While you are awkward from the staring, you are greatly enjoying the sex.

You make grabby-hands at him with the fingers not currently gripping dicks, his shoulder just outside your reach. He leans forward, eyebrows pulled together; close enough for you to slide your fingers behind his neck and pull him down.

He kisses you sloppily, groaning against your mouth as you bite his lip. Your fingers tighten against the back of his neck as he fucks your hand, ruts against your dick. The press of your bodies keeps you squeezed against each other, the friction delicious. You press your face against the crook of his neck and moan.

"Fuck," he hisses into your ear, grinding his hips down. You arch into him and he curses again. That will be the undoing of you, you think, the way he draws out vulgarities.

And then he bites out your name and you amend yourself. _That_ is the end of you. You tug your hand out from between your stomachs, sticky with lube, and pull his hips harder against yours. You are unbelievably hard, aroused enough to unthinkingly whimper, "Please," at him continuously. You don't think he minds, if the way bites at your collar bone is any indication. You arch again, pressing yourself flush to him from stomach to taint, and he shoves an arm under your back to keep you there.

Your orgasm almost surprises you with it's intensity, leaving you a shivering, gasping mess as you ride it out. His breath is hot and moist against his neck as he pants, pushing one hand between you to grab at his dick. The brush of his knuckles against your dick as he jerks off makes your toes curl, oversensitive but still hard.

The sound he makes when he comes would have you tipping over the edge if you hadn't already. It almost does anyway, your refractory period more or less over. The way his hand slides against your dick as he squeezes out every last drop from himself feels really nice now, rather than too much.

His hand slows to a stop and he sighs, sounding content.

"Merry Christmas, mate," he mumbles against your jaw. Your clock informs you that it's only a quarter after eleven. You inform him of this in turn. He snorts and says, "It's four in the morning, Christmas Day, in London. So there."

His matter-of-factness startles a laugh out of you and you can feel him grin as he presses a kiss to your cheek. A moment later, he climbs off your lap. You miss his warmth immediately, but you don't protest the space.

You catch him staring at you as he wipes his hands off on a shirt, eyes taking in your thoroughly wrecked post-sex visage. It's a nice view. You don't blame him for looking.

"Don't suppose you'd be interested in this not being one off, eh?"

"A what?"

"A one time thing." Literally none of his words make sense. He snorts and drops the shirt-cum-towel on your stomach. It's his shirt and you press it into the mess across your abs with one hand absently. "What I am insinuating, Mister Strider, is that I would very much like to frick you again sometime, if you're game," he says, pulling his underwear up his fantastic legs.

Oh.

You watch his dick disappear behind cotton and nod, a little dazed.

"Fantastic!" And Jake Fucking English is back to hovering over you, one hand planted next to your head. He swoops in to kiss you and then he's standing again. "I'll be filming in the Appalachians after New Years, but would you fancy going out after I'm done?"

"Sure."

"Ace," he looks damned pleased with himself, grinning ear to ear and bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Righti-o, I'll see you in the morning then." He's half out the door when he turns back to you and says, "I quite look forward to any further surprises you have for me, Dirk."

And then he's gone, and you're left with Jake Fucking English's jizz soaked shirt and a fucking _date_.

You will have to thank your baby bro for inadvertently providing you with the best fucking Christmas present ever.


End file.
